


The Sum of its Parts

by schmulte



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Inspired by The Half of It (2020), M/M, Philip is a good brother because I say so, Pining, Slow Burn, love triangle (but not really)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-28 01:20:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30131799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schmulte/pseuds/schmulte
Summary: “Love is simply the name for the desire and pursuit of the whole.”-PlatoIn which Henry is in the business of selling essays, and Alex is in need of some love letters.FirstPrince The Half of It au!
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	The Sum of its Parts

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to my latest AU- I will continue to update everything else!   
> #theservermademedoit

_ “Love is simply the name for the desire and pursuit of the whole.” _

_ -Plato  _

The ancient Greeks believed that humans once were made of two- two sets of legs, two sets of arms, two heads. Henry learned it once in an english class, and thought how simple it must have been, to be made of two parts. But simplicity never wins in the game of love- the gods feared the power of two, and split everyone apart. We were doomed to forever search the earth for that other half. 

For the lucky ones who find that other half, it is said that there is no greater happiness to be felt afterwards. That you’ll feel the stars aligning and the earth quaking beneath your very feet. Sometimes, it’s doomed- Patroclus and Achilles, Marc Anthony and Cleopatra. Henry wonders if it was worth it, to feel for a moment that impossible meeting together of two halves of a whole. Sometimes, when he’s having an especially bad day, he’ll tell himself that the harder his life is, the sweeter it will be when he meets his soulmate. That all of the sleepless nights, the days spent being shoved against lockers,  _ everything _ will melt away, and he’ll be able to rest. 

But now is not the time for meeting soulmates. Now, Henry’s going to be late to third period. He waits and waits at the printer, foot tapping anxiously, staring up at the clock. He’d rather not be late for Mr. Srivastiva’s class. 

The printer spits out a paper-  _ Ancient Greek Philosophy, by Hunter S.  _

It’s not the most moral of businesses; every new paper handed over has Henry feeling a glimmer of Protestant guilt- until he checks his Venmo balance. Twenty dollars a page is pretty steep for high school kids, but Henry comes highly recommended. If you asked every student at his high school who wrote their last essay, a third would lie, a third would say themselves, and the other third would say Henry. 

He passes off the paper discreetly and settles in his desk. Mr. Srivastava has already started teaching- on the board, he’s written in white chalk:

_ “Hell is other people.” _

Henry allows himself to zone out for the rest of the class; he’s never had to pay attention, he could sleep the whole time and still get an A. Mr. Srivastava doesn’t mind. Henry’s his favorite student, even if he won’t admit it. He tunes back in at the last minute, his body having memorized the schedule of the school bell, even as his mind drifts. 

“Notice the lack of fire and brimstone in No Exit,” he’s saying to a mostly dead-eyed classroom. “No torture devices necessary; we are the source of our own hell.” The bell rings, and half the class is out the door by the time he’s shouting “Five hundred words on Aristotle due Monday!” 

Henry is the last to pack his things- he always lingers, if he can help it. Sometimes Mr. Srivastava will have a word of sage advice or an extra peppermint for him. 

“Six different takes on Greek Philosophy,” is what he offers today. “I’d say I was impressed if it weren’t in violation of my teaching contract.”

Henry flushes, tips of his ears turning red. “I only wrote the one.”

Mr. Srivastava looks unimpressed. “Sure you did. You’re lucky I haven’t turned you in.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“And read what Hunter has to say?” he pulls a face. “They don’t pay me nearly enough for that. Peppermint?”

Henry nods, and Mr. Srivastava slides a large, glossy brochure with a peppermint on top across his desk; Henry suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. “You’re not seriously trying to bribe me into going to NYU with peppermints, are you?”

“Just take the pamphlet, Henry.”

“I’ve already decided on community--”

“Community college, I know. Take the pamphlet anyway.”

Henry begrudgingly takes it and stuffs the peppermint in his pocket. “See you on Monday, Mr. Srivastava.” 

“I’ll see you Monday, Henry. Please try and spend time with someone your own age over the weekend.”

“I make no promises.”

School passes by in a blur- it always does on Fridays. The crowds buzz with excitement about the football game tonight, something that used to confuse Henry, and now just annoys him. He’s only pushed into a locker once today, though, so that’s progress. He can’t decide if the universe is rewarding him or punishing him today, because Alex is there afterwards, collecting his scattered papers from where they’d fallen out of his hands. 

Alex Claremont-Diaz is Henry’s biggest secret; captain of the lacrosse team, debate team champion, future valedictorian and most likely prom king. He’s been the object of Henry’s desire since freshman orientation, when he’d loaned Henry a pencil after he’d forgotten his at home. He was kind, and teased Henry lightly for his accent, but not in an unkind way. 

“Assholes,” he mutters under his breath now, holding out a stack of papers. His smile is lopsided and clumsy, and it radiates an endearing boyish charm, especially when he tilts his head to the side just a bit. “You okay?”

There’s an awkward pause while Henry tries to unravel the knot in his tongue, and he wills his body to move, taking the papers and nodding. “Fine. Thank you.”

“Hey, no problem. Those guys are dicks, what’s their problem?”

“Oh, well, you know. Small town, gay kid with a foreign accent; according to the laws of every coming of age movie, I think they’re obligated to be arseholes.”

He fears, for a moment, that he’s said too much, when Alex’s face is blank momentarily. Then he’s smiling again, and his laugh is bright and beautiful, and Henry is thinking  _ oh god, if I have to die some day, let that laugh be the last thing I ever hear.  _

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Hey, don’t worry about them. Next year we’re gonna be at NYU, and they’ll be stuck in this shitty little town.” Henry must show his surprise, because Alex’s smile turns a little guilty, and he nods to the stack of papers in Henry’s hand. “Sorry. I kind of peeked at your stuff. But hey, we’ll be at the same school again next year, that’s cool.”

“Oh. Well, I haven’t decided yet,” Henry lies. “I might go to community.”

Alex shrugs easily. “That’s cool too.” The bell rings, and Henry carefully places the papers back in his backpack and slings it over his shoulder. “I’ve gotta head to calc. I’ll see you around, though, yeah?”

Henry can do nothing else but nod and watch him walk away, wondering what the fuck just happened, unable to decide if he’s mortified or elated. He thinks maybe it’s possible to be both. 

His second encounter with Alex happens within a week, and begins no more pleasantly than the first time. It’s raining, and Henry’s dreading taking the bus home in the weather, and some boys in a pickup truck have just driven past after leaning out the window and saying some not very kind things to Henry. It’s when he’s recovering from this latest assault when he sees Alex running up the steep hill towards the bus stop, breathless and soaked, but somehow still smiling. 

“Hey!” He shouts over the rain, jogging to duck under the shelter. “Hey, do you have a minute?”

Henry looks at the automated bus schedule. Delayed. 

“Yeah, I suppose.”

Alex grins. “Amazing. Give me a second.” He starts digging around in his backpack, and Henry’s heart drops. He knows what’s happening here. 

“Twenty dollars a page,” he sighs. “Minimum of two pages, nothing over ten.”

“What?” Alex looks up from his backpack, eyes almost comically wide. “Oh, I’m not trying to cheat--”

“Nobody is. Which class is it for?”

“No, seriously. Look, I,” he groans a little and gives up on the backpack, instead opting to rummage through the pockets of his jacket. “I need your help. With a girl.”

Henry must have heard him wrong. “A...girl?”

“I know you’re gay, and everything, but I figured the writing’s the same, yeah? Oh, here it is.” He pulls out two pieces of paper from his pocket- both wrinkled and a little ripped, ink bleeding from the rain, and he hands over one of them. On it, in sloppy handwriting, is a horrific love note. When he looks up, Alex is eyeing him expectantly. “You can see that I suck. I just need some help with the words.”

Henry holds the letter out to him. “I don’t write love letters.”

“But you do!” He holds up the other paper a little sheepishly. “I uh...may have stolen this? When you dropped your stuff, but I swear I was always going to give it back.”

Henry’s breathing constricts. He knows what’s going to be on the paper before Alex even hands it over, and it’s confirmed when it’s back in his hands. 

_ Love,  _

_ Do you know the tragedy of Patrcolus and Achilles? _

_ We learned about it when we read the Iliad freshman year, but I remember how much  _

_ you complained about it, so I doubt you actually did the assigned reading.  _

_ Anyway, the short version is that Patroclus died in battle, and Achilles didn’t know about it until after he was dead. When he found out, he went mad; he went on an absolute rampage, and when he found the man who killed Patroclus, he killed him and dragged his body around tied to a chariot for days. Before he died, he requested their ashes be mingled together in the same urn.  _

_ I wonder, sometimes, what I would have done if I were Achilles. I don’t believe I’m brave enough for war, but for you, I’d battle entire armies alone. I would be a slave to your whims, if you knew. I’d do anything you asked of me; I believe Achilles and I have this in common.  _

_ I wonder if they know how much their story means to people now. Do you think, when they were alive, that they wondered how they would fit into history? It’s something I ponder every day, how I will be remembered. How will you remember me, when I’m gone? Would you act as Achilles did? Would you notice if I were gone at all? _

_ I will fight for you- hand me a spear, and I will wield it. All you have to do is ask.  _

_ -H _

He’d written it on a particularly bad day, when he was feeling sappy and lovesick, with absolutely no intention of anyone ever seeing it. And now, the boy he’d written it about is standing in front of him, asking him to write something similar for another person. He thinks this is going to kill him. 

He thrusts Alex’s letter back into his hands and shakes his head, watching the bus approach out of the corner of his eye. 

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“But--”

“Good luck, though.” He gets on the bus just as it pulls up and doesn’t look back at Alex, waiting beneath the bus stop, crumpled letter in his hands. 

There’s a note left for Henry on the counter, a tupperware of dinner besides it. 

_ Working late tonight. Eat and do your homework. _

_ -P _

Henry does as he’s told, microwaves his dinner and does his homework in the comfortable recliner in the living room. It’s a cramped apartment, but it’s cozy, and warm, and it’s home. There’s framed photos lining their walls- Henry’s parents and three smiling children, Philip’s college graduation, their grandparents. Henry doesn’t think about his mother while he does his statistics worksheet. 

Philip comes home around eleven, still in his suit, a little rumpled now, and he ruffles Henry’s hair before heading straight to bed. It’s hard sometimes, living with his older brother- he’s not around much, busy with work. It’s almost like living alone at times, and he resents it, because he’s seventeen and it shouldn’t be this way, but then he remembers how he saved to get Henry a second-hand piano for his sixteenth birthday because they couldn’t afford a car, and how he burned the turkey their first christmas together. 

Philip brought in the mail with him, and on top is the power bill. His brother’s job pays decently, but not enough to support himself and a teenage boy comfortably. Henry knows it could be worse, that he’s lucky to have never known hunger or cold. But it’s hard, sometimes, to be a teenager in a town like this when you can’t get everything you want, in a town where kids get mustangs for their sixteenth birthdays and throw parties on their parents’ dime. 

He thinks about the three essays he still needs to write for the people in his history class. Twenty dollars a page, times five pages each, times three people, equals three hundred dollars. Enough for the power bill and groceries, so Philip won’t have to worry about it. Add in another twenty from a love letter...he’ll sleep on it. 

On Sunday, he goes to church- Philip is more religious than he is, but the pastor pays Henry fifty dollars every Sunday to accompany the choir, and he likes the piano. Alex is there, dressed in a sharp suit and handsome as ever, even at this ungodly (ha) hour of the morning. He keeps trying to catch Henry’s eye throughout the service, though, and it’s hard to focus with Alex Claremont-Diaz staring into your soul. 

He tries to hide from him after services are over, but it’s near impossible. Alex is faster, and Philip is talking the ear off of someone so he can’t even go wait in the car and hide forever. Alex corners him by the bathrooms, leaning in so close he can smell his shampoo, and god, Henry is just hopeless. 

“Have you thought more about it?” Alex asks, voice like honey. Any resolve Henry had is promptly gone at the sight of him in that goddamn suit. 

“Twenty five dollars a letter. And you have to help me.”

Alex’s grin is wide- he pats Henry on the shoulder and practically skips away, leaving Henry alone to slide down the wall and hold his head in his hands in peace. 

“God,” he breathes. “What the fuck have I gotten myself into?”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> please don't judge my letter-writing ability too harshly, I am perpetually single


End file.
